Authors note: Please advise, this is very different than my other stories. I admit this is wrong and I also know that this is a one-way ticket to hell. I have come to learn that my cathartic way of dealing with my real issues is to write extravagant erotic stories where I engage in perverted sexual revenge on those who have wronged me in my real life. Instead of feeding into the pain, or worse, suppressing it, I have learned that fucking the shit out of these people through creative writing makes me feel better. Even for those who I love personally, despite our flaws.
Meet Ibsy, my actual mother. Many stories here are of a loving mother and son and how they find an emotional bond that leads them into the bedroom. My story is not. This starts in an already exhausted relationship, where an adult man is tired of dealing with a mother who holds back love as a manipulation. He goes to extremes. This is not something I want to do in real life, just the pain that I live with daily.
For those who need this to help them read, let's just assume that in a dark hole, somewhere, anywhere, an app was invented for you to control others, and I have the only version. It came with instructions and everything. Writers' discretion allows me to fill in this gap later, but either way, even if I don't, this is where our story starts and we assume the peripheral is simply that, outside the scope of this story and irrelevant.
It isn't just fantasy. It's beyond fantasy. Nothing is real, except that I have a mother I am not happy with right now. I've always had a thing for incest and mature women and I'm here to just get you off, should you like a completely fucked and twisted story with zero morals. We're all just here to have a good time...
Read at your will. If this is not your cup of tea, I understand. Please respect the art, the need, and the other readers (especially the horny females). You can always stop reading if it's too much to handle and we won't judge you any more than we want to be judged by you.
-Stealth311
I sit in the car for a minute to settle what I'm about to do.
The devil on my left shoulder is firm in his beliefs. "Fuck her," like what was once told to Pinto in Delta House. He continues, "Look, we're over this shit. You know what she needs most is to get fucked raw, then she will back off the other shit."
The angel on my right shoulder interrupts... "Eh-hem. Just sayin'. That is your mother."
The devil cuts him off, "yadda yadda... she gave up that dream years ago. Let's be real, you are her pack mule, and she loves you just as much as if you slept in the barn and waited till morning to mow her lawn. I don't care if she once shot you out of her dirty old cunt, you need to get in there and fuck her, for our well-being. Just go in there, press that button to see what happens. If things get crazy, turn it off. You cannot lose, you pussy."
I wait for the angel to say something, but nothing from his side... I look down to the right as if to say, 'What? Nothing??' He looks up from his newspaper. "She is your MOTHER...." Looking back into my eyes with intent, waiting for me to agree... he just shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders in disgust, knowing he already lost this battle. Looking back to his paper, the angel reaches into his shirt pocket, pulls out a joint, snaps his fingers lighting his thumb like a match, and tokes deep. He blows the smoke out through his nose, creating matching smoke circles, and exhales... "Fuck it. Whatever... But promise you'll at least dump the first load in that bitch's mouth for us, no, straight down her throat. Make her guzzle it." He looks down to his paper, still talking but not to anyone specific any longer, "I want cum bubbles."
The devil starts laughing.
I turn the car off and remove the keys, putting them in my pocket while I grab the phone from it. Pausing as I reach for the door handle, I ponder a test. Looking down I unlock the screen and open the app.
I look up to the well-lit living room window and consider that the range of the device must be more than the 20-30' needed for the most likely current distance of her to me presently, depending on where she is now. This could be slightly easier to get started if he didn't have to look at her when he was pressing buttons and a basic test now could save a bunch of questions to her, the police, my sisters, or the Arkham State Penitentiary white coats.
I open the app and start the program. A text prompt appears with a bouncing cursor. Below was a large 'Deliver' button. I consider two things. First, spelling and grammar may end up being very literal, so take care, and luck, with how we approach this. Second, we need to be able to put the genie back in the bottle at the end of this. She is still our mother and leaving her to be found nude and in a suddenly vegetative state with a fried cortex may also end up with us playing zappy-brain with the white coats at said penitentiary. So, for her sake and mine own, be careful here... I peer down over to my right shoulder to see the angel look up and over his newspaper again. He shrugs his shoulders, offers a fake smile, and an air fist bump, as if to say, 'Go us!'. Then flips the creases out of his paper, pulls it to his face, then lifts his right leg and farts graciously.
Good nuf. Hashtag 'One Team', let's go.
I type, '
turn off all the lights
' then hit deliver button.
The next few seconds seemed to last forever. Waiting, nothing changes.
Disappointed, but realizing it was for the best, I consider maybe she was just out of range or maybe it was all bullshit after all. Reaching for the door handle, I open the car door while putting the phone in my pocket, grab the bag of groceries, and exhale with expectations for the night to come. I just hope she isn't in a mood to start with. It usually only goes downhill from there.
Walking up to the door, I do not see the lights in the bedrooms with windows on the side of the house dim. I use my key and unlock the door, knocking on it as I open it, yelling inside, 'Ma! Ibsy!! I'm here. I brought dinner."
I walk in and kick off my shoes at the door before putting the bag down to remove my phone from my pocket and the coat from my back. As I put the coat on the standing wood hangar near the door, I look at my phone as I pick up the groceries.
In the app, there is a change. It now says 'Sent' where it once said, 'Deliver'. The copy from the previous message was listed above the prompt in a chat-like format. A new empty prompt shows, and once I activate the cursor within, the button changes back to say 'Deliver'.
To myself, I think, 'Oh, uhhhmmmm... now what?' I look around from the scope of the front door and there are lights on where I am in the living room, but I can now see the kitchen is out, including the one over the stove which seems like it was on always.
"What? Is that you?? Why the fuck is it so dark in here, Mikey??" She doesn't even realize she is holding three of the nightlights typically found strategically placed throughout the hallways. "Why are you in the dark?? You brought dinner?"
"I just got here, and it was this dark. Technically I brought groceries, not dinner. I thought it would be nice to have you make a nice meal we used to share together. Like when I was younger."
